


Sherlock Holmes and the Missing Parcel

by bicroft



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bicroft/pseuds/bicroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson's first year at Hogwarts isn't... normal. </p><p>Admittedly, though, nothing involving Sherlock Holmes is ever going to be normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Recently found this on a USB drive and said what the hell.

** Chapter One: The Peculiar Boy on the Hogwarts Express **

John Watson lugged his trunk down the length of the Hogwarts Express, searching desperately for a compartment to sit in. Just a few weeks ago, if you had told him that he would be going to Hogwarts- a school of magic, where the young witches and wizards were trained- he would’ve called you mad. But, there he was, on the train and on his way.  He jostled through the train, looking for an empty compartment, still in awe about the entire thing; being raised in a “Muggle” family, this was all quite new to him.

He wandered about the train (it was seemingly endless), at last finding a seemingly empty cabin- “seemingly” being the operative word, for, when he sat down, he automatically felt someone’s gaze upon him. Slowly, he turned his head, and was hit full on by the sight of a fair-skinned boy glowering at him. For a moment or two, John was frozen, his eyes locked with the steely blue of the other boys, before he looked away sheepishly. “I-I’m sorry, did you want to be alone?” he asked, already grabbing his trunks. “I can find another compartment, if you don’t want me staying.”

John was already opening the compartment door when he heard the boy say, his voice quiet, “Stay, if you’d like.” It was more a command than an invitation, so John sat back down, staring intently at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing ever.

“So… you were raised by Muggles, then, Watson?” John was startled by the question, and his expression reflected such- his eyes widened, and his jaws dropped to the floor.

“H-how did you know?” he breathed, and, the boy across from him chuckled.

“Your robes are new, which means that you’re an only child, or your parents bought you new ones. Seeing as your trunk reads ‘H. Watson’, with the ‘H’ crossed out, and replaced with a ‘J’, means that you aren’t the first owner of the trunk which was owned, obviously, by an older sibling- a brother, perhaps?- who did not go to Hogwarts, or, you would be wearing hand-me-downs, since new robes are a bit costly.” The boy blew a curled strand of jet black as he finished his explanation, and smirked triumphantly. “Well, did I get it?”

“Almost,” John said, recovering quickly. “‘H’ stands for Harry-“

“Which matters to me _why?”_ The boy huffed. “I still got it.”

“No, you _almost_ did, let me finish. ‘H’ stands for Harry, or Harri _et,_ I should say. She’s my-“

“Sister!” the boy exclaimed, slapping himself on the forehead. “There’s always something!”

“That was amazing, though.” John admitted. “I never would’ve been able to guess that, had I been in your place. My name’s John.” He said. “What’s yours?”

“I didn’t guess, I _deduced._ There is _quite_ a difference. And, I’m Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes; pleased to meet you, John.” John laughed, and extended a hand warmly. Sherlock eyed it for a moment, before shaking it cautiously, as if it were a dangerous animal, and would strike at any moment. “That’s not what they normally say.” he said quietly, after John had retracted his hand.

“It’s not what who normally say about what?” John cocked his head to one side inquisitively. 

“Not what most people say when I deduce things.”  Sherlock sighed.

“And, what _do_ they normally say?”

“‘Piss off, freak!’” John was horrified by Sherlock’s reply.

“Why would they say that? It’s amazing, what you do; you’re not a freak, you’re a bloody genius!” The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up, in a semi-smile.

“I think we’re going to get on quite well, Mister Watson.”

They spent awhile getting to know each other- John found out that Sherlock was a pure-blooded wizard, raised solely in the wizarding world, but was quite interested in Muggles, especially their justice system- before a trolley came around, offering sweets and other such snacks, making John realize how hungry he was. He rummaged through his pockets, and managed to find some wizarding money jangling about in there.  He pointed to a few things that looked like they wouldn’t make him vomit or try and eat him back (you just didn’t know with this wizard-y food…) and paid, staring at the items as the trolley left. He opened a package labeled “Chocolate Frogs”, and, was startled to find that the frog hopped out of its box, and onto the floor. He let out a surprised yelp, and dropped the package.

Faster than John could ever imagine a human being’s reflexes to be, Sherlock lashed out, catching the wrapper in one hand, and the squirming frog in the other. “It’s not an actual frog, I promise.” He said as he handed the sweet back to John, who stared at it for a long moment before taking it.

“Are you quite sure?” he asked, and Sherlock chuckled slightly.

“Yes, quite. Their enchanted and not amphibious at all; you’ll get used to it soon enough, I assure you.”

“If you say so,” John sighed, and bit the head off of the frog. He looked back in the package, and pulled out a card with a man on it, brandishing a sword and looking quite angry. The name under him read “Godric Gryffindor”. John was mesmerized and Sherlock leaned over to see why.

“Ah,” he remarked. “You’ve gotten one of the house founders.” John looked puzzled. “The houses at Hogwarts,” he clarified, but, John still didn’t follow. Sherlock sighed. “It seems you’re in need of a history lesson, then. There are four houses at Hogwarts- Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff.  They each have certain qualities that qualify you for them. You have about an even chance at all but Slytherin, I’d say, but only because Slytherin is mainly for Purebloods, but you never know.” Sherlock shrugged.

“What house do you think you’ll be in?” John asked, still a little hazy about the concept, but understanding better that before.

Sherlock frowned. “Slytherin, unfortunately; almost everyone in my family has been. I’d much rather be in Ravenclaw, though. Most Slytherins are idiotic prats.”

“Oh,” John said, not knowing what else to say. They sat in silence for a moment or two, the only sound being the steady clacking of the train down the tracks. Sherlock looked pensive

“So,” John started, unable to stand silence. “What kind of thing do they teach us at Hogwarts?”

“Magic,” Sherlock replied bluntly, looking a little distant. John rolled his eyes.

“No, I never would have guessed.” He deadpanned. “Seriously, though.”

“Seriously?” Sherlock looked at him. “I don’t really know, but I suspect it will be tedious and boring; I’m almost positive I’ll delete half of it by the time second term comes around, and almost all of it by the end of the year.”

“Delete? What are you, a computer?” Sherlock blinked a few times.

“A what?”

“It’s a… never mind. But, what do you mean delete?” John asked.

“People think of their minds like a sponge,” Sherlock said philosophically, and something gave John the notion that he should be writing this down to go in a quote book or a fortune cookie. “But, they aren’t. Your brain is like a room, and should only be stocked with information that is absolutely necessary. All the tedious details and minor things should be left out, and that’s what I do- I stock my mind palace with only the things I need, and let the rest go.”

“Wow,” John breathed, amazed by the boys abilities again. “That’s amazing.” Sherlock’s mouth twitched up in a semi-smile, but he was soon back to looking pensive. This time, John didn’t bother him, and pulled one of the books he had had to buy out of his suitcase, and began reading. It was quite confusing, but, John read on, picking up a few new terms along the way. Finally, he shut book, head pounding. Sherlock was looking at him now, curiosity evident in his eyes.

“You were right, again,” John sighed, rubbing his temples and putting the book away. “This stuff _is_ tedious.”

Sherlock nodded, and smirked a little. “I generally am; right, that is.”  John snorted.

“Arrogant, much?” he said, and Sherlock’s smirk grew.

“No,” he replied. “Just stating a fact.”

John laughed, and they chatted a bit more, before an older boy with silver hair popped his head into their cabin. “We’ll be arriving at Hogwarts, soon.” He said, looking at John and Sherlock “So, you may want to gather your things.”

“Thank you,” John said, and Sherlock just nodded. The boy smiled.

“First years?” he asked, and they both nodded. “Great. The name’s Lestrade; Gregory Lestrade, but, most people just call me Greg. I’m the Prefect in Gryffindor house, and, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you there.” With one more wide smile, Greg disappeared, probably going to inform some other students of their impending arrival at Hogwarts.

“He seems nice,” John said offhandedly, and Sherlock said nothing. John tried again, this time asking a question, to which Sherlock seemed to reply more frequently. “So, what are the houses like? You said Slytherin is mostly for pure-blooded wizards, but what about the rest?”

“Gryffindor is famed for its members ‘bravery’,” Sherlock said. “But, a lot of the time it’s brute force and blind stupidity. Ravenclaw is for the genii of the school-”

“You’d fit in quite well there, then.” John commented, and Sherlock smiled.

“Yes, I suppose I would. Hufflepuff, I guess, gets the overflow, but their generally the friendliest of the lot- overly so, most of the time. Slytherin doesn’t get on well with most of the other houses, Gryffindor most of all.” As he finished, John nodded understandingly.

“Alright, then.” He said. As soon as he did so, the train lurched to as stop, and John was thrown forward. He could have sworn he heard Sherlock chuckle as he picked himself up off of the floor.

They both grabbed their trunks, which they were instructed to leave on the platform by a hulk of a man calling “Firs’ years! Firs’ years, right this way!” John was cowed by the giant figure, but Sherlock pulled him towards the boats. They got in, and just as John was about to grab an oar and start rowing, he was thrown forward again as the boat began to move on its own. He let out a cry of surprise, and Sherlock held back a laugh.

“Enchanted,” he explained, and John nodded. He didn’t have time to reply, because his breath was taken away at the sight of Hogwarts. The castle was given a mysterious glow by the moonlight, and the glows flickering from its windows.

“Wow,” John breathed, and Sherlock nodded, also awed by the sight.

They were lead into the castle, and told to wait until they were ‘sorted’.  John and Sherlock stood close together, in the corner as the other children mulled about talking amongst themselves. A dark skinned girl in the corner was talking loudly to a dark haired boy about what house she thought she would be in. “I’m positive I’ll be either in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor,” she declared, and the boy nodded. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and mimicked her. She turned, and shot him a glare.

“You’re here, freak?” she spat. “I thought for sure you’d be carted off to St. Mungos by now.”

John looked between Sherlock and the girl as they glared intensely at one another. The boy seemed to be looking at Sherlock in the same manner.

“Donavan,” Sherlock said coolly. “I thought you and Anderson would be too busy snogging in the corner to catch the train.” 

“Shut up,” This seemed to strike a chord with both of them, because their complexions darkened in embarrassment. But, Donavan seemed to recover quickly, and was soon eyeing John. “You with him?” He nodded, and she snorted.  “If I were you, I’d keep your distance. He’s a freak; he’ll be the death of you if you spend enough time with him.”

John felt Sherlock tense up beside him, and bristled. Sherlock had obviously lost friends this way before. Who was this girl to decide who could get close to Sherlock, and who couldn’t? Who was she to tell him what to do? “Thanks,” he snarled. “But, I think I can judge my friend for myself.”

Donavan shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and she led Anderson away. As they got lost in the crowd, Sherlock relaxed.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and John just smiled.

Soon, they were ushered into line in alphabetical order, John being shunted to almost the back of the line. He waited as people were sorted before him by a figure he could not see- the Anderson boy ending up in Ravenclaw, Donavan in Gryffindor, a small, timid looking girl named Molly (who had been trying to talk to Sherlock, as they waited, but had never come up to them) in Ravenclaw also, and Sherlock into Slytherin as he had predicted. Finally, it was John’s turn and he walked forward on shaking legs. He was surprised to find that it was not a person sorting them, as he had supposed, but a hat – of all things! He sat down, and allowed the thing to be placed upon his head, and jumped a little when it began to speak. “Gryffindor!” it shouted with only a moment’s pause, and John frowned a little. He’d hoped that he would be in the same house as Sherlock, even though the other boy had warned him ahead of time that he most likely would not.

John got up, and was flagged down by the boy he’d seen on the train- Greg Lestrade, the Prefect. “You were one of the fellows from the train, the one sitting with the quiet boy.” He said when John sat down, and John just nodded. “He got put in Slytherin, eh? Well, it’s a good thing we have a lot of classes with them.” This lifted John’s spirits a little, and he smiled.

“My name’s John, John Watson; I don’t think I told you before.” He said.

“Nice to meet you, John Watson,” Greg said congenially. “And, welcome to Gryffindor house!”

Later that night, when John finally got back to his dormitory after going of the customary beginning-of-term-tour-so-you-don’t-get-lost-and-end-up-dead (at least, that was what Greg had called it), he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Maybe this magic thing wouldn’t be so bad after all…


	2. The Lion and the Snake Take To The Sky

John reluctantly opened his eyes as sun began to filter through the window of the dorm. It was the first day of classes. For the most part, everyone else in his dorm was still asleep, but John still got up, dressed, and began navigating his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. He wanted to try and get his bearings, so that he wasn’t going to get lost and end up locked in a broom closet in some unknown corner of the school.

It took him about fifteen minutes to actually get down to the Great Hall, considering the fact that the staircases kept deciding to change direction at the oddest times, and in that time the Hall had become almost full of students. John sat down grabbing a piece of toast and using his knife to spread jam over it. Just as he bit into it, he felt someone sliding onto the bench next to him. He didn’t think anything of it until he heard a voice say: “Good morning, John.” He inhaled, choking on his food. By the time he recovered, he’d seen the cause of it all. “ _Sherlock_?” he spluttered. “My _God_ , you nearly gave me a heart attack! Aren’t you supposed to be sitting with your house?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Yes, but, they’re so _dull_  John; I like you better.”

“Sherlock!” John hissed. “You’re going to get us both in trouble on the first day!” Sherlock sighed.

“No, I’m not! No one’s even paying attention to us, see? And, you’re just _expected_  to eat with your own house, there’s no actual rule that says that. _I_  would think that they’d love to have people from different houses as friends.”

“Oh, alright,” John said, a little relieved that he didn’t have to make Sherlock leave. He hadn’t made any friends in Gryffindor house yet, though, it  _was_  only the first day.

Sherlock gave him a sly half smile, and began rambling off about some book he was reading on poisons, and John (though confused) found himself enthralled by it.  Sherlock gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke, earning a few odd glances from others, but he paid them no mind. John found himself listen happily; Sherlock was peculiar, but he was brilliant, and the closest thing John had to a friend at the moment. 

They got their class schedules, and Greg had been right- Slytherin and Gryffindor _did_  have several classes together. John smiled as he read them, and nudged Sherlock. “We’ve got all but two classes together,” he said. “I have Astronomy with Ravenclaw and Charms with Hufflepuff- you have the opposite, I assume?”  
  
Sherlock nodded, giving John another one of his almost-smiles. “You’re already making some deductions of your own, I see?” he quipped, and John laughed.

“You’re rubbing off on me, Sherlock.” John nudged him with his elbow playfully. They both laughed. Donovan spotted them then, glowering at Sherlock.

“Go eat at your own table, _freak_.” she spat. Lestrade heard her, and shot her a reprimanding look.

“Oi,” he said. “That’s enough of that. We don’t tolerate that kind of thing here.” Sherlock stuck his tongue out at Donovan just before Lestrade turned to face him. “But, you should be eating with your own house.”

“There isn’t any actual _rule_ that says I have to.” Sherlock replied. “I’m just _expected_  to, and I don’t really do as expected that often.”

Lestrade shook his head. “Just… go back, for now.” He sighed. Sherlock huffed, but got up.

“See you later, John.” he called over his shoulder, and John replied without thinking: “Definitely.”

Lessons were bloody _amazing,_ as John learned in the first few days. Tiring, and confusing, but amazing all the same. Sherlock (who, despite his claims on the train, seemed to find many of their lessons at least a little interesting) helped John with his homework when he could; they met most days in the courtyard or library, talking for hours on end until they finally had to go back to their respective dorms. John had made a few other friends, also- Greg had become like an older brother to him, showing him the ropes. He and Molly Hooper (the shy Ravenclaw girl from the Sorting Ceremony) had their one class together, and were on good terms. He was actually quite popular within his house, despite Sally Donovan’s withering opinion of him, and was always talking to someone or another, but Sherlock most often. They were thick as thieves within a short period of time, the bond solidifying the day of their first flying lesson.

John had always loved high places; he’d been in planes a few times, and had always been the child most likely and most eager to climb to the top of the jungle-gym, or retrieve the kite from the tallest tree. So, when he realized that they would be learning to fly- on broomsticks, no less- he was ecstatic. “We have flying lessons today,” he informed Sherlock giddily over breakfast. Lestrade had stopped trying to send Sherlock back to his own table after awhile, when he realized that the raven haired boy would just be back the next day. Sherlock glared into his pumpkin juice.

“Yes,” he said tightly. “I am aware.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright?” he asked. He seen Sherlock in a mood before; the boy was damned near bi-polar in his actions, running around giddily in one moment and bored the next, throwing things at any who dared try and coax him out of it. (Unless said person was John; Sherlock never threw anything at him. He’d tried once, and it hadn’t gone over well.)

“Fine,” Sherlock growled, obviously not in the slightest. John didn’t buy it; he gave Sherlock a look that said as much. “Drop it, John.” Sherlock said. “I’m fine. I’m just… tired, it all.”

John still didn’t buy it, but he left it alone; Sherlock would doubtlessly tell him in due time. They fell into easy conversation after that, but there was an edge of unease to it that John really wished would go away; that Sherlock would tell him how to fix it.

When the time finally came for the lessons, Sherlock seemed even more agitated. “I’m not feeling well.” he told John on their way out. “I think I may go down to the Infirmary.”

John was skeptical. “You seemed fine in Potions, just a few minutes ago.” he commented, stopping abruptly and crossing his arms over his chest. Sherlock was forced to stop also, lest he bump into John. “What’s going on, Sherlock; what aren’t you telling me. I want to be able to help.”

“There’s nothing _to_ help, John.” Sherlock sighed. “It’s just a thing.”

“No,” John wasn’t going to let him leave without an answer. “Tell me.”

Sherlock sighed, running a hand through his hair and glaring at John. “You’re very single minded, do you know that?” John smirked.

“So I’ve been told; now, _spill_ , Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighed again before muttering something that John couldn’t hear. “What?” John said. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m…” Sherlock didn’t meet John’s eyes as he spoke. “I’m afraid of heights, okay? I don’t know why, they just _scare_ </i> me, and having the only thing between me and the ground be an enchanted cleaning utensil and open air would _not_  be helping.”

John paused, and then laughed. “That’s it?” he said. “You’re _afraid of heights?!_ Sherlock, I thought I’d done something wrong, or someone had done something to you, but you’re just afraid of heights? That’s nothing, mate! It’ll be fine.”

“It isn’t funny!” Sherlock snapped, cheeks going red.

“I wasn’t saying it was.” John placated, knowing that this was a sore spot. “I’m just saying it’s no big deal.”

“But what if I fall?” Sherlock whined. “John, I’m going to _die_  up there! I’m going to get on, panic, and die.”

“You’re not going to die, Sherlock.” John assured him. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.” Sherlock looked at him, skeptical.

“Really?” he asked, and John nodded.

“Really; now, come on, we’re going to be late.” Sherlock nodded, looking far happier than before, and they walked on.

John loved broomsticks. He loved flying. This was definitely the highlight of his eleven years of life. These were the things he told himself as he flew, grinning wildly. The other Slytherins and Gryffindors were doing the same, with the exception of Sherlock, who hovered a few feet, and moved a bit, but did nothing more. Madame Hooch didn’t seem to notice that, though, and John was okay as long as Sherlock didn’t fall or something.

When the lesson ended, John was ecstatic, jabbering happily with some of the other Gryffindors on the way to the dorms to drop off their things before dinner. He caught Sherlock’s eye, and smiled at him just before the other boy was pushed over by a wave of Slytherins, some chiding: “Out of the way, freak!” Then, his smile drooped as something dawned on him- he was probably Sherlock’s only friend. He watched as the raven haired boy picked himself up, brushed himself off, and walked on, seeming to not see John.

John sighed, and walked on, the thoughts weighing heavy on his mind. 


End file.
